What if ?
by WriterJC
Summary: Episode tag for The Real World. Sheppard and Beckett have a little talk. The good doctor didn't appreciate a certain Colonel's actions in the infirmary.


Title: What if . . .

Rating: K+

Warnings: The oft-hated Chaya is mentioned briefly.

Archive: Fine by me, just let me know where.

Characters: John Sheppard, Carson Beckett

Summary: Episode tag for "The Real World". Sheppard and Beckett have a little talk. The good doctor didn't appreciate a certain Colonel's actions in the infirmary. Also touches a bit on why Sheppard seemed to have all the answers.

Spoilers: Sanctuary, The Real World, and an itsy bitsy teeny weenie one for Rising.

Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams. . . .

Authors Note: I haven't written Atlantis in over a year, so I'm feeling really nervous and rusty. But this bunny popped into my head while I was doing housework and since it was just a wee one I decided to free it instead of knocking it back into the pen.

**WHAT IF**

"What were you thinking, son?"

John roused from half-slumber, and cocked an eye up into the frustrated expression of Atlantis' Chief Medical Officer. He unfolded his arms from behind his head and sat up when he noticed that the other man was no longer decked out in orange quarantine gear. A good sign in his book.

"It worked?" he asked, instead of answering the question. If Carson had time to be frustrated with him, then it must mean that Elizabeth was well on the road to recovery instead of hovering near death's door. Still, he wanted to hear it for himself.

"Aye." Carson nodded once. "Dr. Weir is fine, but it could very well have been the both of you eaten up with those nasty buggers. It wasn't the wisest of decisions. And you might have warned me."

"No offense, doc, but there wasn't time and you weren't very likely to go along with it." Satisfied that things had worked out, John looked beyond the clear plastic of the isolation area, wanting only to figure out where they'd hidden his clothing and get the heck out of dodge.

"You're bloody well right, I wouldn't have agreed to it –."

"So we agree, then," John cut him off, and offered a conciliatory smile. Carson could be long-winded when he got a full head of steam going. He made a move to get off of the bed, hoping the irate doctor would take a hint and let him be on his way.

"Where do you think you're going?" Apparently the Scot wasn't in a hint-taking mood.

"My quarters, the mess hall . . . ." _Anywhere but here_. He tried again to move around the doctor.

"Not so fast. You're stuck with me a wee bit longer. I've a few more tests." He then took a step through the opening in the plastic and conferred with one of the nurses and an orderly.

John frowned, worried. He hadn't particularly liked the way Carson had emphasized the word 'stuck'. And the orders he was giving his people seemed inordinately long when he was presumably only trying to torment one of his patients.

Of course, John had known going in that his actions would seriously irk the doctor, but it had been so clear what he'd needed to do. Even if there had been time, there was no way he could have explained it in terms that any of them would understand. He hadn't been able to after that incident with Chaya, and he sure as heck wouldn't be able to now. The "what ifs" had been the best he could do.

Those thoughts scattered as Carson returned carrying a metal tray filled with small empty vials, vials that he knew from harsh experience were waiting to be filled with his blood. He nearly missed the doctor's statement that one of the orderlies would be bringing him something up from the mess hall.

"Suddenly, I'm not so hungry anymore." He continued to eye the tray warily.

"So then." Carson snapped the latex gloves with a pleasant smile. "Tell me again why you felt it was necessary to break quarantine?"

"You know how it is," John shrugged. "You have an idea that you're sure will work and the next thing you know you're carrying it out."

"But you couldn't have known for sure that it would work. Quarantine protocols were in place for a reason. You put not only yourself at risk but others as well."

John eyed the doctor, weighing his next words, before glancing away. "But I did know," he murmured.

Beckett was aghast. "How could you possibly?"

John struggled for an answer. "Maybe it has something to do with the gene, the mental component. I'm sure the Ancients have had to deal with this before, so . . . maybe . . . ." He shrugged. "You're the doctor."

"That I am, and I'd thank you to remember it. And I'm also the geneticist, and just because the gene has a mental component doesn't mean that you can channel the entire Ancient medical database sight unseen and get at the particular bit of information that you're needing."

_Well, when you put it that way._ "Look, Carson, I don't know. I really can't explain it. I just knew I needed to be in physical contact. Can't we let it go at that?"

"No, we can't. Why don't you try? Help me to understand it. I need to be sure that there isn't anything here more insidious than the need to help a friend."

John thought furiously of a way to try to get his thoughts across to Carson without venturing into territory that he didn't want to visit.

"The jumpers," he blurted.

"What about them?"

John thought back to the way the machines had responded to him. "There was next to zero learning curve, for one thing. That's unheard of for any kind of aircraft, much less aircraft from another galaxy. Once I touched the controls, it was like it told me how to fly it on some intuitive level. It's the same way with the chair."

Carson nodded. "You're an experienced pilot, with no little amount of experience in navigation and weaponry, of course they did. That's the very nature of the mental component of Ancient tech. Elizabeth isn't a bit of technology she's a living, breathing human being."

John shifted on the bed and allowed his gaze to drop. "So was Chaya . . . more or less." So much for not dipping into that particular territory.

"You're talking about the ascended Ancient who was exiled for saving her planet from the wraith." The level of confusion in his tone told of his lacking of understanding as to why she'd been brought up.

John remembered it vividly. After Rodney had outed her as being an Ancient and she'd left the room, something had happened. "What the hell was that?" he remembered demanding when she'd nearly collapsed in his arms at sensing that Wraith darts were surrounding her planet. But he hadn't only steadied her; he'd seen the vision with her.

A similar scenario had played out just hours earlier in the jumper bay. Except, this time it was Elizabeth who had collapsed against him. In the time he'd held her and they'd made the call to Beckett he had felt something. Nothing so strong as what he'd experienced with Chaya, but it was there. He had pushed it away, thinking it simply worry for a friend.

But the feeling had stuck there under his skin, growing until it became urgency until he'd mentally tried to reach her, calling out with his mind, telling her to fight. He'd even thought on some nebulous level that he was getting somewhere.

The clincher had come when he'd breached the room and touched her. He'd felt her desperation, had even half-seen her attempting to escape. By the time Beckett ordered him out of there, he'd known that he'd done all that he could

"Colonel? You were saying." Carson 's voice drew him back.

"When we were touching, I could feel it when Chaya sensed her planet being surrounding by Wraith darts. At the time I thought she let me because we'd gotten . . . close and maybe that _is_ what happened, but then with Elizabeth . . . I felt something . . . similar." John simply couldn't find the words to explain it. It had barely been a whisper in his mind.

"She's your friend." Carson offered. "You were worried about her."

John nodded, not entirely in agreement. "You're right, we were all worried. But, it was more than that. When I broke the quarantine and touched her . . . I can't be sure, and it was hazy, but I think . . . I think I saw what she was seeing."

Carson simply stared at him for a long moment, and then he blinked. "Well, then."

"I'm not crazy, doc."

"I didn't say you were." Carson rushed to reassure him. "As a doctor I'd be the first to admit that there are many things about the human brain, intuition even that we don't understand. Throw Ancient technology into the mix and it makes it that much more confounding."

"Confounding. That's a good word for it."

"I'm glad you decided to tell me about it. I'll keep it in mind as a part of my research. Can I come to you later if I have questions?"

"I'd prefer you didn't."

"Figured as much." Carson took off the latex gloves and set them aside. "But you should consider speaking to Rodney. He may be able to help get to a scientific answer for what you felt."

"Yeah, okay." John nodded, but knew that he wouldn't. If the resident brilliant geneticist didn't have a clue, no way was he asking the resident brilliant physicist if he thought the ATA gene might come with its own version of a psychic hotline.

"Whatever the case, it appears to have worked and we can be thankful for that."

"Yeah," John nodded, uncomfortable.

They both looked toward the plastic entry as an orderly entered carrying a tray from the mess hall. Carson thanked the orderly and took the tray.

"So, uh, doc, since I've spilled my guts all over the place, think I can get out of here? Maybe spend the night in my own bed?"

"Aye." Carson smiled. "That can be arranged."


End file.
